


With(out) Permission

by Skalidra



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alpha Slade Wilson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Courting Rituals, Hunting, Intersex Omegas, M/M, Mating Rituals, Non-Explicit Sex, Omega Jason Todd, Showing Off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27326089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: Every year, there's the hunt. A gathering of all the unmated, of-age omegas and alphas within any decent traveling distance, brought together to find mates or have children, to help ensure the continued survival of the human race. Jason has no intention to do anything of the sort, and as long as he isn't caught, he doesn't have to. No one's ever managed to catch him before; no one's going to do it this year, either.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Slade Wilson
Comments: 96
Kudos: 605
Collections: SladeRobin Week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Last day of SladeRobin week! This is for the extra bonus day that was added this year, one Free Day, for anything people want to do. This was actually the second thing I finished for the whole week. This, is a post-apocalypse, omegaverse, SladeJay featuring mating hunts and courting. There will be more chapters. Enjoy!

Jason's fidgeting, reluctantly letting Dick trace careful black lines around the edge of his eyes, when the stranger rides into town. He catches a glimpse over Dick's shoulder, eyes narrowing and head tilting before he thinks about it to try and get a better look. Big, dappled grey horse, easily a third again the size of any horse in their stables except maybe Bruce's, with a man on top that—

" _Jason_." Dick censures, firmly pulling his chin back with a frown. "Come on, I'm almost done."

He huffs, distracted for a second by the resumed poking at his eyelid before his gaze flicks back towards the rider. He can still see a little, without moving his face. Only general things, though, with the distance between them. Big, dressed in blacks and browns varied enough they'd probably blend to forest shadows real easily. He's got rough-cut white hair, an equally white beard, but when he swings off the horse it doesn't look like there's any stiffness or signs of age in it. Weird.

Hell of a rifle slung across his back.

"Who's that?" he asks, flicking his eyes towards the man instead of moving his head so Dick doesn't just stab him in the eye and call it a day.

Dick ignores him for a second, finishing the last sweep of the brush off the corner of his right eye, before letting go of his chin and leaning back. He starts to clean off the little brush in the bowl of water next to them before turning, looking over his shoulder to follow Jason's line of sight. His shoulders tighten, the next moment. Lip pulling back in a quiet snarl as he almost shifts to get up, and then shakes it all off in the next second. He turns his back, sharp and final.

"No one. Just some alpha here for the hunt, probably."

Jason blinks, looks at the man again. He's gathering the reins for his horse, starting to head towards the stables like he knows where they are. "Bullshit," he says flatly. "Who is it?"

Dick gives him That Look that he hates. The 'this is alpha business' look he must have learned straight from Bruce. "Don't worry about it. Bruce will deal with him."

"Alright, I'll find out myself."

Dick grabs him the second he starts to stand, dragging him back down to the stool with a hissed, " _Jason_."

" _Dick_ ," he snaps back, flashing his teeth, bristling a little. "Let go of me."

"Only if you promise you're not going over there."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"You—” Dick cuts himself off, takes a breath. "Jason, just trust me, okay? You don't want to get involved with him, and he'll be gone before the hunt. He's probably just here to trade."

Yeah right. No alpha shows up the night before a hunt to _trade._ Especially not an alpha that Jason's never even seen before. Coincidences like that don't happen.

"' _No unmated alpha can be barred from the hunt_. _For the continued survival of the human race, diversity must be ensured,_ '" Jason parrots, in exactly as annoying and high-pitched a voice as the whole speech deserves. The whole thing goes on to talk about the hunts, and why they're necessary, and all that, but he thinks he's made his point with just those two lines. "I'm not an idiot, Dick. Let go."

For a second, Dick looks like he might start a fight. Then he exhales, and lets go before lifting both hands in surrender. "Alright. Fine."

Jason leans back and crosses his arms. (He steals a small glance in the direction of the stranger. He's nearly made it to the stables.) “So?”

"His name's Slade," Dick says, clipped enough he obviously doesn't want to be saying it. "He's an outsider, he lives a few day's ride into the mountains."

After a few moments, it becomes clear that Dick apparently thinks that that's enough. Like that explains his reaction, or the refusal to talk about the man. Outsiders might tend to be more dangerous than most, but that doesn't exclude them from hunts any more than anyone else. Not unless they've got a history of being violent towards their mates.

Jason gives it another second, then presses, "And?"

Dick frowns at him. "And nothing. He’s a dick, that’s all.”

What a liar. "You're one to talk about being a _dick."_ He gets up, swinging off the stool and this time Dick doesn't stop him. "Whatever."

'Slade' and his horse have vanished from sight, probably into the stable. It's tempting to go after him, just to spite Dick for trying to tell him he can't, but he decides not to. There's not actually anything to gain other than spiting Dick, and if he goes that way Dick will chase him anyway, and it'll be a whole thing and he just doesn't want to deal with it. He already has to make it through the dinner, and whatever assholes try and 'impress' him during it.

If Slade's here for the hunt, he'll see him there anyway. And if he's not, then he can just cold-shoulder Dick into eventually giving him the information. He can hold a grudge a lot longer than Dick can hold onto being a jackass.

"Whatever," he snaps, flashing teeth down at Dick again before he turns and walks off, back towards his room.

Asshole.

* * *

Slade leans up against the inside of the fence, sipping from his cup as he watches the rest of the gathering, letting the sound wash over him. The bonfire marks the center, long tables on either side set up along the deep line carved through the center of the space. On his side, the alphas. Most young, more than a handful shirtless, shoving at each other and scuffling as they show off. On the other, the omegas. Dressed in their fineries, carefully groomed and styled and showing off in a very different way.

There are people here from at least three towns, that he recognizes. Probably more. The forest here has been the grounds for the ritual hunt for decades; people will have traveled from weeks out to attend, a party of the unmated alphas and omegas, and enough guardians to make sure they arrive safely, and are treated fairly.

He doesn't have particularly high expectations, but maybe somewhere in that crowd of omegas is one that's actually worth his time. One that can keep up with him and pull their weight. It's been a long time since he's joined a hunt, after all. Eight years, give or take.

Standing a head above almost all the rest of those gathered here, it's easy to let his gaze wander the crowd. There are certainly some fine omegas on the other side of the fire. Beautiful ones that he wouldn't mind putting a pup in, to 'do his part' in diversifying genetics. It's a decent backup plan, if no one else catches his eye. He won't mind teaching a lesson to a couple cocksure youngsters to earn the chance to enjoy some young, pretty thing.

Tomorrow, of course. Breaking the rules tonight would give Wayne the excuse to make him leave that he's obviously been itching for. He knows Grayson is watching him, too, in between the mitigating he's doing among the posturing alphas, as the son of the town's leader. Grayson's an unmated alpha like any of the others — shame, with looks like those; Slade would have loved to take _him_ home — but his status in the town gives him rank among the rest. That, and the fact that he's actually quite skilled in his own right. There's more than a handful of omegas on the opposite side of that line that would love to be the focus of pretty boy Dick Grayson.

Slade's gaze wanders, skipping over the main clusters of omegas near the tables, scanning briefly before he looks towards the further edges of the open area, where the light of the fire starts to fade. Back there might be the ones who already have a partner in mind, or the ones that have retreated to the shadows to enjoy their food without being watched as they eat. Or the ones that have been pressured to come by law and expectation, and don't really want to participate.

Only a heat or an injury gets an unmated, of-age omega out of participating in a hunt.

Nothing catches his eye.

The mulled wine is warm on Slade's tongue as he drains the cup, pushing away from his chosen spot and circling around to one of the tables. He may as well eat, before the tables are entirely picked clean. A refill for his cup would be nice, too; it's practically doing these young alphas a favor, drinking enough to keep them from hangovers of their own. It's an amateur mistake that at least some will fall victim to; an alpha that isn't present at dawn, for the start of the hunt, doesn't run. Those that overindulge might not make that deadline.

He takes a bowl from the stacks near the middle of the table, ignoring the omegas at the other side eyeing him. Some with wariness, some with interest. He might look older, but he knows what else he looks like. Tall, powerful, and confident. Some omegas prefer that, over someone young and inexperienced.

Slade's just about ready to head back somewhere to eat when he hears a snarled, " _Fuck_ off," from somewhere further down the table.

He looks up, scanning till he sees the flash of teeth, the bristling aggression. An omega, surprisingly. Taller than most of them, dressed in a dark red, long-sleeved shirt that draws tight around his waist. His hair is roughly ear length, black. There's an alpha across the table from him, leaning into it, a hand on the same bowl that the omega's reached for. Going by the smirk on his face, he's said something that he thinks is flirting but probably just came across as sleazy.

Apparently he didn't get the message.

There's an alpha to Slade's right, filling his own bowl, making eyes at a female omega across the way. Easy source of information; distracted and also clearly a little better of a judge of interest, considering how she's smiling back at him.

"Hey," he says, not quite nudging the alpha. He nods the direction of the harassing alpha, when the one next to him looks up. "What a moron, huh? He goes chasing that omega he's going to get clawed to hell."

The young alpha looks, snorts. "Yeah, he'll get worse than that. That's Jason; everyone's heard of him."

Young alphas are always such easy sources of information. "What? He a fighter?"

"No, he's Wayne's kid. You know, Grayson's brother?" The alpha glances around, leans in close, " _So_ not worth it. From what I hear, he's got a whole corner of the forest just littered with traps. He's never been caught."

Oh _really?_

"Yeah," Slade agrees, patting the shoulder of the young alpha, "definitely not worth it."

The alpha's happy enough to be distracted, again, by his omega interest. Slade circles around, mainly ignored as he comes around the back of the moron alpha at the end of the table, still with his grip on the bowl. If it wasn't against rules, Slade's fairly sure he'd be grabbing a wrist instead, and he'd already be bleeding. No touching allowed, though. Not over the line.

He lowers his voice, doesn't growl — that would draw attention — but comes close to it. "Excuse me."

The alpha turns with a sharp, " _What?_ " the jerk of his hand wrenching free the bowl from the omega's grip. There's an irritated hiss from across the table, but the alpha's attention is pretty instantly caught by how close Slade's inserted himself, looming just by virtue of his height.

He arches an eyebrow when the alpha's gaze manages to get high enough to actually look at his face. He's obviously unnerved, and he rallies for a moment with a halfhearted snarl, but a simple lack of reaction extinguishes that fast enough. The alpha swallows, steps back and then scoffs and stalks off, as if he meant to leave anyway.

Slade watches him long enough to make sure he's leaving, before turning back to the table. The omega, Jason, has his shoulders raised and his eyes — pretty shade, blue with green flecks — narrowed, clearly ready to defend himself now, too. Slade wonders how long he has before Grayson notices that he's near his precious brother. Probably not long, considering how closely Grayson and his father have been watching him all night; this must be why the two of them have been so aggressive.

"The fuck do you think you're doing?" Jason demands, through the baring of his teeth.

Slade shrugs, setting his bowl down on the corner of the table and reaching for one of the platters at the center. "Nothing. I saw something that looked interesting, and he was in the way." He adds the slice of meat — deer, looks like; well cooked — to the top of the bowl, then reaches for a nearby pitcher to fill his cup. "Jason, isn't it?"

"And you're Slade," comes the sharp answer. "I've heard you're an asshole."

Slade snorts, but lets that fall aside. "Your father and brother like to be in control, and I don't cater to it." He looks up, lifting his now full cup to his lips. "And they don't like the fact that I'm the best hunter in a thousand miles, and I know what my skills are worth."

The boy's hostility wavers a little, shifting to fascination for a second before he wrenches it back. "What kind of a hunter?"

There's the bite.

"Criminals." He smirks, making the insinuation very clear when he adds, "Predators. If I feel like it."

Jason's gaze flicks down his chest, and back up. His arms cross. "Is that what you're doing here? Hunting predators?"

Boy likes wordplay, doesn't he?

Slade makes a show of turning his head, looking towards some of the other omegas as he hums, deep in his throat. He looks back to Jason before answering, "If I find any." The interest is a little more blatant this time, and not reined in as quickly. The boy's probably far enough on the hook to try tugging. "I hear you've never been caught."

Jason's chin lifts a touch. A fool would take it as submission, and ignore the threat in his eyes. "You taking that as a challenge?"

"I like a challenge," he admits, freely enough. "But I respect how dangerous a predator can be. Especially when they don't want to be hunted."

From across the table, in the midst of the whole other mess of scents in the air, he gets the smallest flick of rich, thick spice. Anyone else would probably dismiss it as the lingering taste of the wine on his tongue. Jason inhales as well. Swallows, and licks his lips subconsciously. He's struck a cord, apparently. Good.

Slade lowers a hand and pushes his bowl across the table, till it's in front of Jason. It's not exactly standard courting, but the hunt demands he make concessions for time. He'll know soon enough whether his interest is reciprocated enough to make the boy willing to be chased.

"Good to meet you, Jason."

He gets a stiff nod, and doesn't wait for anything verbal to turn and leave. A quick glance across the alphas in front of him picks out a target. Posturing, big and with enough charisma to be holding court in his little circle, gaze flickering around like he's spoiling for a fight. Looking for the biggest, baddest person around to go after to show off for everyone. That's perfect. Slade only has to step within a dozen feet to draw attention, and the alpha immediately puffs up and starts to close the distance. Eyes bigger than his stomach, this one.

"Hey!"

Slade pretends that he's only just noticed the boy, turning just as the alpha gets to him. "Something I can help you with, kid?"

The flashed teeth say the alpha's not fond of that term. "Aren't you a little old to be here, grandpa?" he tries. A hand comes up and shoves at Slade's shoulder, none too gently. He lets it rock him back a bit. "You should leave the hunt to the ones that can still get it up."

Not terribly creative, is he?

Slade takes his time raking his gaze down the boy's frame, and back up. He lets his lips curl enough to suggest a smirk. "You don't want to play with me, boy. Run along."

The pride of a young, arrogant alpha trying to show off is an easily predictable thing. The boy inhales and glares, glances back at his watching friends, and then squares up and swings at his blind side.

Turn into it, catch the wrist and bicep, brace a foot, back to chest, and _pull_.

The kid flips over his head. Hits the ground on his back with a _whoosh_ of air and a thud heavy enough the cushion of grass doesn't begin to muffle it. Winded, probably sore come the morning, but he'll be fine. Nothing broken, nothing damaged, per the rules of the dinner. Slade doesn't mind adhering to that; there are plenty of things to target that do much more injury than just breaking an arm, after all.

(Reputation is such a fragile, easily tainted thing.)

"Deep breaths," Slade reminds the gasping kid, making no effort to hide his amusement. "Pick a better target next time, kid. Maybe someone your own age; might be better for your skillset."

The little alpha snarls, but it's breathless. He's harmless.

Slade steps back and lifts his gaze, looking over the heads of the rest of them to the table he left. Jason's still lingering there, watching. Good.

He tilts his head a bit, offering the suggestion of a question without having to approach and say it. _'Impressed?'_ he might drawl if he were closer. Pair it with a smirk and lean in, use his height and the breadth of his build to show off how big he is compared to the rest of these pups. From this distance, though, all he can do is offer that question.

( _"Like what you see?"_ )

Jason holds his gaze through the crowd, and crosses his arms with very deliberate indifference. His head tilts, gaze flicking away to look at something else. Not impressed with the random stranger, then. He's picked his own challenge.

Slade nearly laughs, when he follows that indication to its target.

Grayson. The boy's offering up Grayson.

This'll be fun.

He steps around the winded alpha still at his feet, wandering the direction of where Grayson's enmeshed in his own little group of alphas. Most of them are familiar; various sons and daughters of important members of the local communities. This, and others. The 'elite,' if any of these striplings can claim such a title. Even among them, Grayson stands apart as the leader. Doesn't take him more than a few seconds to notice Slade's approach, either, even indirect as it is. Of course not, boy's been keeping an eye on him all night. He's just been _waiting_ for Slade to make trouble of some kind.

Slade, on the other hand, is better at keeping his intent hidden when he wants to. He lets Grayson watch him for a couple moments before looking over to catch the gaze head on. The boy holds it instead of pretending he wasn't looking, radiating enough challenge that even his friends can't help but notice. What a lovely, convenient excuse to head over. Grayson's always so obligingly aggressive.

It's excellently obliging, too, how he flicks hands at his friends and dismisses them, whatever he says getting them to dissipate without apparently much of any argument. If the boy wants to face him alone, that's fine with him. Might be a little harder to coax him into a fight without peers around to impress — or look like a coward in front of — but being able to say anything he likes will make up for it.

"Want to just get it over with?" Slade asks, once he's close enough to say it without shouting.

Grayson, standing tall and proud, chin lifted enough to make his posture match the challenge in his gaze, is just controlled enough that he doesn't flash his teeth. Much. "Get what over with?"

Slade rolls his shoulders in a loose circle, as if stretching them. "The fight you're itching for. Been staring at me all night; it's either that or you’re more interested in me than any of the pretty faces on the other side of that line.” He smirks, looking Grayson up and down with a sharp flick. Nothing new, but still just as easy on the eyes as he has been for the past few years. “I wouldn’t be opposed to that; always good to get energy out before a hunt.”

He's not expecting that to be enough to get Grayson to start things, but it's enough to get him to snarl and step forward. "You know exactly why I'm watching you, Slade. I don't trust you."

"With what? Your town?" He leans forward just a bit, lowering his voice to something just he and Grayson will catch. "Or is it that brother I've been hearing about? What is it, 'Jason?'"

Grayson tenses. His hands clench. "Slade—"

"I hear he's never been caught. Been running what, three years now? Four? That's impressive." He grins. "You know how I like a challenge. Maybe I'll see if I can be the one to bring him down."

It's almost enough. Grayson looks like he's going to lunge, for a moment or two. Then he breathes out, flexes his hands. "You're trying to bait me. I don't know why, but it's not going to work."

Cute, but Slade's never let a little thing like restraint keep him from what he wants. (Especially someone else's restraint.)

"Sure it will." He tilts his head just far enough in the direction of Jason to make Grayson follow his lead and glance that way. "Sure looks interested, doesn't he? Might even welcome it when I catch him, and you know I always catch my targets. Maybe he'll appreciate actually being challenged."

Grayson doesn't quite snarl, but it's close. "Slade, stay away from him. He doesn't want kids, or a mate, and if you hurt him I swear to god…"

Slade chuckles, stepping sideways enough to suggest that he's circling Grayson, forcing him to turn his head. "So fight me, kid. You beat me, I won't run for him tomorrow. You've got my word."

"It's not fair and you know it," Grayson's quick to argue. "You're an Affected."

And far luckier than most that have that name.

"Anything's fair in a hunt. You could always wait. Recruit your little alpha friends to try and bring me down tomorrow." He shifts uncomfortably close, listening to the way Grayson's breath catches slightly. "But I won't be on a leash tomorrow. You want to try and get in my way when I don't have to play nice, kid?" A fraction closer. Grayson's shoulders are stiff as a board. "Does that _really_ sound like a good idea?"

Grayson glares up at him. There's a sharp, calculating edge at the back of his eyes; that mind that Slade's always appreciated, back behind the good looks. Really is a shame that Grayson's a bit more on the traditional side. He might be a truly excellent fuck, if he'd get away from that whole respectable, uptight role he's chosen for himself. Then again, Grayson's traditional in other ways too. He probably wouldn't make it a week before he started in on wanting to _share_ everything Slade's collected for himself with the community. 'Survival together' or whatever the little catchphrase is they teach these days.

Slade's never gone in for that. What's his, is _his_.

One more push, then.

"What's to lose, kid? Even if you can't beat me, you can try again tomorrow. Maybe you'll get lucky."

There it is. Another little flare of anger, but consideration, too. Grayson pauses for a moment, then suddenly snaps, "Why would you even be interested in him? You've never even run a hunt here before."

"Sure I have." Slade smirks. "But maybe I'm not. Maybe I'm just bored, and your little brother is a very convenient button to press to get you to entertain me. Maybe even if you lose, I'll find someone else to chase."

Grayson never likes it when he's noncommittal. True to form, he flashes his teeth and gives a very quiet growl, probably lower than most could hear. Slade can, though, and he lets his smirk curl just a little higher to finish antagonizing him. He's already on the hook, he just needs a little more time to come to that 'decision' on his own.

The kid steps back, faces him head on.

"Fine. You're on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! There's this, and then one more chapter afterwards to wrap things up. Have fun!

Jason shifts his weight from one foot to the other, stealing glances across the field, over the heads of the omegas that happen to be between him and the gathered alphas over there. Bruce is making his regular speech, all 'honor' and 'doing your part for the community' and 'creating bonds,' and blah, blah, blah… Jason's heard it all before. It doesn't change, and he doesn't feel like listening to a bunch of pointless words when there are more interesting things to be paying attention to.

Slade's over there. Still and calm where most of the alphas are pacing or fidgeting, easy to pick out given that he's the tallest, biggest one in the whole collection. Not a scratch on him, either. Not like the ones that were scrapping last night, and have still got little scrapes or bruises marring them today. It's like he avoided getting into fights at all, even though Jason knows for a fact that's not true. He watched it happen. He _made_ it happen.

He's not really sure what he expected, but he was just... Dick's the best fighter he knows apart from Bruce, and there was something in him that wanted to _know_ what this alpha that thought he could be impressed would do, if he asked for something more difficult. (And maybe there was a part of him still pissed at Dick, that thought maybe setting Slade on him would be satisfying. Which it was.)

Jason's really always considered this a bunch of tired, bullshit, alpha posturing nonsense, but maybe he wasn't _completely_ right about that. Maybe there's just never been anyone that really interested him, because now he kind of understands what was driving all the stupid flirting he's watched the last few years. He's got this squirmy, heated thing in his stomach that's been there since Slade scared off that asshole alpha with nothing but his mere presence, and it only got worse throughout the night.

It was… interesting, seeing Dick get put face down in the dirt. He doesn't really know how to describe it other than that. Just… _interesting_. He was interested.

(It's not like it was a one-sided scrap. Dick's really good, but Slade was just _better_. Faster, somehow, and stronger, seeming to know exactly how Dick would move and where he'd strike. Slade took a couple solid hits — not that he can see any of the marks from here — but Dick… Dick has got a very impressive black eye that Jason had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at over the breakfast table this morning.)

And with Slade looking at him, standing powerful and victorious over Dick with the heat of his gaze a near tangible thing, maybe Jason picked up that bowl waiting for him. Maybe he silently agreed to Slade… _hunting_ him.

Fuck, he hasn't been this jittery since the first hunt he had to be a part of. It’s been years.

Slade's gaze catches his, somehow, over the heads of everyone else. Even with the distance between them, he can see the slow smirk. Then an inclination of his head, slight enough to be nothing, deliberate enough Jason knows it has to be intentional. He doesn't have any doubt Slade's intending to chase him. Hunt him down, try to have him like no one else has managed, but more than a few have tried. The latest in a long line.

Weirdly, the thought settles him. He shifts his shoulders and breathes out, tuning back into Bruce's speech just long enough to confirm they're towards the end of it.

"—boundaries of the forest. The hunt ends at sunset, and all participants must be back before—"

Yeah, that's the end. Safety warnings, rules, and then a last couple lines about being respectful and some other bullshit.

Slade called himself the best hunter around. Well, they'll see, won't they? Jason hasn't been caught yet, and if that doesn't change, it's no loss. If Slade's not good enough to catch him, then Slade's not good enough. Just means he goes on with his life, doing what he enjoys, and waits for someone to come along who is. Or just waits till he likes someone, and who cares if they can catch him or hunt him or any of that. He doesn't have to know someone can match him in a chase to be in a relationship.

He's just curious to see if Slade _can_.

"Runners, ready!"

He moves without thinking about it, bending his knees, curling the toes of his boots into the dirt as he settles down.

"Set!"

He tilts his head enough to find Slade in the crowd, and flashes his teeth in a snarl as he angles his jaw up.

 _Come and get me_.

"Go!"

Jason bursts into motion with all the power in his legs, outstripping the others beside him within just a few moments as he heads into the forest, stretching out his legs to eat up ground, breathing short and controlled. He knows this forest. He knows every bit of her, fallen logs and hurdles and everything in between. She's an old friend.

Anticipation prickles at the back of his neck, putting just a bit more speed than normal into his run.

He's not planning on making this easy.

* * *

Grayson's glaring at him, but Slade finds for once he doesn't care. Not right now. Fun as Grayson can be to needle at, his focus is on more important things, and he's not about to let himself get distracted by a protective brother.

Jason. Tall, unusual, aggressive Jason, that only accepted his offering of a meal once he'd put Grayson in the dirt. Who flashed challenge and teeth both at him before he took off running, baring just enough throat from across the field to make all his instincts take notice. It's an invitation if he's ever seen one, and Slade's got every intention of accepting it. He's curious to see how good this boy who's never been caught is. He wants to track him, hunt him, chase him down and prove he's skilled enough to make him submit. He wants to _take_.

The boy's fast, that's for sure. He makes it to the forest's edge before any of the rest of them, long legs eating up the distance like it's nothing. (Legs Slade would dearly love to get his hands on and take a closer look at, if they can carry him that fast, that easily.) Judging by what other tidbits Slade heard from alphas last night, he's quite the trap-maker, too. Apparently the most tenacious of alphas from the past year — he knows the name Roman Sionis, but wouldn't have imagined anyone letting him into a hunt — had to be carried back in at nightfall, given that one of his legs was broken in three places from a misplaced step in one of Jason's traps.

He's looking forward to seeing them.

Ten minutes. That's the headstart the omegas get. Some will stay near the forest's edge, waiting to be prey to the alphas with no interest in patience, or waiting for those that they've already agreed to meet. Others will just be running, no thought or plan to it except to get away, or to give their pursuers a chase to be remembered.

Supposedly, Jason has a corner of the forest staked out for himself. To be far enough out of the way to not endanger the other runners, it would have to be a good run to get there. It's possible Slade could catch up with him before he gets there, but he doubts it. He doubts that someone clever enough to set up defenses the way Jason supposedly has will have stumbled over the basic necessity of getting there. He'll have a route planned out, something to avoid being found until he's ready to be. Maybe he's stashed supplies out there, too.

Grayson might know more about what his little brother's plans are, but he's hardly going to tell. Slade could make him, but that wouldn't be in the spirit of things. 'Convincing' Grayson to give him the information isn't the same as hunting Jason using his own skill and senses. No need for him to stoop that low.

There's only a smaller speech for the alphas. A few lines of warning and encouragement, and then one shot from a rifle, fired high into the air with the retort cracking through the morning. Warning, and encouragement.

Slade doesn't race forward, like some of the younger alphas. Sprinting forward, trying to be the first to get in the forest, the first to get their hands on one of the omegas, stake their claims. Impatient pups. He follows behind, at a lope. No need to use any real energy yet. Let the others get distracted, let them pair off and find their own trails. He can take his time.

He saw where Jason ran in, but it still takes a bit of time for him to catch an idea of where he's gone. His senses are sharper than most; first he sees the pattern on the ground. A beaten path, faint, but a little too wide for most animals. And there… the print of a boot. Fresh. There's broken underbrush, and when Slade bends down to bring it up to his nose, there's the scent he caught a hint of the night before. Rich, thick spice. Earthy.

Jason.

He ignores the sounds filtering through the trees — laughter and yelps and the first moans — and focuses on the trail.

He was moving fast. Practiced. He's run this route before, and he knows how to step to avoid leaving too many tracks. There's enough to follow if you're hunting for it, but no alpha is going to pick this up by accident, not without some phenomenal luck. There's only the faintest trace of his scent, too; just little dashes of it where he brushed through underbrush or maybe touched trees to steady himself for a jump. Nothing that anyone but Slade could follow, and even he can't get much of any scent from the air. You'd need a hunting dog. Or an Affected with an enhanced sense of smell.

He almost laughs, when the trail leads straight to a shallow river. Classic. No sign of footprints on the opposite bank, no immediate hint of which way he might have gone.

Downstream leads towards one corner of the forest. That would be logical. That would match the information he knows, that Jason's protected area is at a corner. He could follow the stream all the way there, or at least until there's some branch-off point that might point him elsewhere. It would make sense.

Slade considers for a moment, and then turns his gaze upstream. Just as easy to traverse; not deep enough to be a problem walking against the current. It leads back towards the center of the forest, but it would be easy enough to cut away from it further up. Defy expectation, take the longer route to throw off any pursuers, take the risk that some hunter might have bolted straight to the center of the forest. It's not bad odds.

He heads upstream.

A few minutes and he's rewarded for it. A disturbed patch of damp sand on the same side of the river that he entered on, swiped through to clear whatever was there. A footprint, he'd bet. Not bad. Easy to miss, and you'd have to guess he went this way to begin with.

Slade leaves the river behind and follows the new hints of a trail. Cutting across the forest, more carefully now, instead of the rush of earlier. Still fast, though. Must be advantageous, to have the hunt on your home territory. Obviously, Jason knows these woods. The tracks don't tell of any hesitation in cutting across areas where there are fallen trees, and he's sticking close to the natural cover, using rock outcroppings and wide trunks as shields to hide him from any eyes that might be watching.

Easy to see why no one's ever caught the boy. He does know how to run, doesn't he?

The dawn light's brightened to true day when Slade sees the first sign. A simple, red-painted symbol for danger; the classic symbols that any town might use to warn travelers off from an area with dangerous fragments of the old world, or something like a collapsed mine or predator's den. Slade scans the other trees first — two other symbols he can see, spread out — and then checks the trail.

Straight past that sign.

So, this must be where those traps begin.

Slade breathes in, easing himself down to slow, steady caution as he moves forward, straining his senses as much as he can for anything out of place.

The tracks are more obvious here. Impressions where weight was brought down, disturbed earth and broken, dried leaves where he might have gone to a knee. The boy came in, and armed everything behind him. There are threads and wires stretched taut between trunks, piles of leaves that might look natural except for that Slade's very practiced at how things look when they've been 'made' natural. He does it himself often enough.

A brush of his fingers through one turns up a pit beneath; not deep, but enough to twist an ankle or break one, easy. Enough to cripple. The wires, on the other hand, are attached to all sorts of things. Some are firmly secured, clearly just there to trip. The others are lighter, made to release bent wood to snap into the victim, or swing things down from the higher branches. There's even a widely spread net of thin lines, ready to spring shut at one wrong step and thoroughly entangle any alpha unlucky enough to be in the wrong place.

 _Well_ done. If he didn't know he was stepping into a minefield, Slade doesn't doubt he might have sprung one or two of these himself. Anyone else wouldn't have stood a chance.

Slade makes his way further in, sidestepping one trap at a time, keeping his tread soft, his shoulders rounded down to minimize his silhouette. The trail leads, finally, to what looks like an abandoned building. Old world. Half-collapsed stone, winding vines up the side. Half-overtaken by the plant life around it, the entrance a dark rectangle with no sign of life in it. It's quite the hiding place. Big enough that there are probably alternative exits, too.

He edges closer, circling around at an angle to avoid being in sightline from the entrance. Pauses there, beside the open maw of the door, and listens.

A faint footstep. A scuff of something. Someone's certainly in there.

Slade shuts his eye, taking a long few moments to let his sight begin to adjust to the darkness behind the lid. He crouches down, finds the edge of the door with his fingertips and then tilts his head just enough to look around the corner as he reopens his eye. It only takes a moment for his sight to adjust that last bit between the darkness of his closed eyelid to the darkness of the inside of the building. An open room, a counter at one corner encapsulating it in a semi-circle from wall to wall, scattered salvaged chairs and various oddities, only some of it matching the state of the building. Easy enough to see that someone uses this as a retreat. A private den, away from the town, away from Grayson and Wayne. Not bad at all.

He scans the room, pinpointing the two doors — still intact — leading further in, studying the ground for any hint of passage. There's a layer of dirt over whatever the flooring used to be, and he can see the tracks plain enough. Right to that encircled corner; good defensive position, that, and one of the two doors is back there, too. Either that's something he can barricade, or it's a way out. Either way, Slade will be best off making sure he doesn't get the chance to run.

It's easy to keep his steps silent, hugging the wall to keep the light from betraying him with shadow. All the way around the room, shifting down to a low crouch as he reaches one side of that half-wall. There's a thin gap where, at one point, there might have been some kind of swinging door. The hinges are still there, at least, but now there's just the gap, wide enough for him to ease into and peer around the corner.

There he is. Legs stretched out, head leaned back against the shelving that forms the back half of this counter. Quiet, unguarded. Grayson's brother was handsome last night, eyes brought out by the black lines painted around them, waist hugged by that dark red shirt, but Slade thinks he likes him better this way. The pale line of his throat exposed by how he's resting his head against the shelves, his eyes shut, chest rising with each breath. Not put together like some offering, but natural and calm in the security of the fortress he's created.

Slade imagines, idly, how that throat might feel between his teeth.

Jason's eyes snap open.

It's instinct to burst forward, pushing off the coil of his legs to intercept the boy before he can do more than start to scramble up. Jason crashes into him, the bar of an arm across his chest trying to keep him at a distance, teeth baring in a snarl even as he hits the ground. The parts of him used to tussling with alphas, hunting and dragging them back to whoever paid for their heads, almost has Slade forcing the body under him onto his stomach, dragging his arms back. _Almost_.

Slade wraps his hands around each bicep instead, pinning the boy and keeping far enough back to avoid the wild snap of his teeth. A knee drives into his side — just as strong as he’d expect from legs like Jason’s, driving his breath from between his teeth — before he manages to force his way between those thighs and bear his weight down. The boy struggles, knees clamping down around his sides hard enough to hurt even with his tolerance for pressure, and if Slade were anyone else, he’s sure the bucks of hips and twisting shoulders would have been enough to make him lose his grip.

Instead, he straightens his arms enough to look down, trusting to his strength to hold the pin. "Hello there, boy," he says, over the continued snarl.

There's enough light for him to see Jason's eyes widen, staring up at him. The snarling stops, and the struggling stills, though he stays tense. "Slade? I— I didn’t hear any of the traps. How did you…?”

Slade smirks. "I'm very good at what I do."

Beneath him, Jason shifts, the arm at his chest easing some of its pressure, as do the knees digging into his sides. The hand now pressing flat to his chest flexes, curls fingers into his shirt a bit. He can see, in the shadow, the movement as Jason swallows. "I'm getting that." It's low, and Slade's been alive too long not to recognize the buds of appreciation there, too.

He offers an equally low rumble. "Quite a trail you led me on. You're not bad."

"Didn't seem to slow you down."

Slade hums his amusement. "If it hadn't, you never would have made it here." Slowly, he lets go of Jason's arms, bracing his hands against the floor instead. The boy doesn’t strike at him; good sign. "The traps outside are impressive. Hard to keep to the right balance between nonlethal and ineffective like that."

Eyes other than his probably wouldn't pick up the faint flush of red that brightens Jason's cheeks. Hard to miss, though, the tightening of the fingers in his shirt to a harder grip. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." He makes the rake of his gaze obvious and lingering, from lips to throat to what their positions lets him see of shoulders and chest. Past navel it's obscured, but he thinks he gets his point across. "So… I've hunted you. Caught you."

Jason swallows again. "Let me go, too," he points out, shoulders shifting as if to emphasize that they're no longer pinned down.

Slade inclines his head a touch. "Like we talked about, boy, I respect predators."

"Is that what you think I am? A predator?"

He pulls one corner of his mouth up into a smirk, watching how Jason's eyes flicker to his teeth. "A young one. Could use a teacher that won't limit you to what's appropriate. Show you all there is to this world, beyond the forest and that little town."

The hunger's easy to spot, but it’s restrained. "I know how to fight. Trap. No one's limiting me."

No, Wayne and Grayson don't buy into that 'good quiet omega' tradition; cooking and sewing and caring for the home. But that doesn't mean the son and younger brother, watched over and protected, doesn't want _more_.

"Anyone taught you how to hunt?" Slade asks.

He can hear Jason's breath catch, just a little, and even a layman's nose would be able to smell that thread of arousal weaving itself into the air. "Depends on what you want to hunt."

Slade tilts his head, and shifts a hand in just far enough he can brush his knuckles over the sharp edge of a jaw. "Right now? Just you."

Another stutter of breath. The slightest lift of his chin. "No; I don't know that kind of hunt."

No romantic interest in the town, then. Good to know. He can't deny the base instinct that's very, very pleased at the idea of being the first to touch this dangerous, skillful boy. A diamond in the rough, that no one's yet managed to get past the sharp edges of. "Do you want me to teach you?" He keeps his voice low, and doesn't leave any possible room for misinterpretation.

The hand in his shirt tightens one little bit further.

"Fuck _yes_."

And it drags him down.

The boy's all wild heat, lips warm, his hands unpracticed and grasping at shoulders and neck and hair, unsure of where to go. It's inexperienced, but Slade finds that interestingly refreshing. There's nothing fake in the clumsy passion of it all, just raw desire and interest, and inexperience isn't any sort of kink of his but it is a nice change from his usual. For a long time, his sexual encounters have been things of convenience. An omega that caught his eye, or one that offered and he saw no reason to refuse. Real enough, in their own ways, but not like this. Just sex, with nothing behind it but physical enjoyment.

There's nothing that compares to a hunt. Nothing that compares to tracking and chasing and _taking_ his quarry, once he has them. It’s different, having that wild element to it.

Jason finds his footing quickly enough, shivering under the bits of encouragement and praise Slade gives as he learns through mimicry. Finally gasping out, with a hand up under his shirt and Slade's mouth at the base of his neck, that he has a bed through the door behind them.

As satisfying as it can be to couple in the dirt and wild, dropping down to base instinct, Slade does prefer the comfort of a bed. Besides, it's highly satisfying to heft Jason up into his arms and carry him to the door, the surprise and fresh wave of arousal a welcome, heated addition to his scent.

Behind the door is a relatively small room, but it's obvious enough Jason's made this into as close to a real den as he could get. There's a collection of blankets spread over what looks like a cot, cobbled together bookshelves filled with all sorts of things, a trunk at the opposite side. In the corner, beside the narrow slits of a series of high windows, hangs an unlit lantern. Not necessary, now; those windows provide him more than enough light to see by as he lays Jason out on the cot and climbs over him. Easy enough to pick up where he left off.

Secure in the time he knows he has (and the fact that he's sure no other alpha will be able to get in here without making a ruckus), Slade takes his time. Explores all the pale skin and lean muscle laid bared to him, touches and tastes and maps the boy, inch by inch. What makes him squirm, what makes him gasp, what makes him cry out and whine for more. More that he’s entirely willing to give, bringing the boy repeatedly high as he coaxes the virgin-tight entrance to relax and stretch, first with tongue and then fingers. Being bigger than most has side effects; this is one he doesn’t mind in the slightest.

No need to make the boy’s first time a painful experience; he has more than enough patience to move slowly, tamp down the heat and force himself to control every impulse that says to take and _take_ until he's satisfied. Rude to treat any partner that way, let alone a virgin partner (and Slade would rather Jason come back to his bed eagerly, if he chooses to come back).

It's only when Jason's panting and limp across the blankets, thighs trembling in the aftershocks of their fourth release — only third, if you count the one after he refused to allow any pause merely an extension of the former — that Slade turns an eye to his own desires.

The boy's soaked, sensitive, and so open Slade has no trouble sliding right inside, earning himself a loud cry and the dig of nails into his back. Overwhelmed, but no hint of pain, so he’s done his job right. He starts slow, regardless. Gives him time to adjust, before the change from overwhelmed sounds to pleasured ones gives him the sign to flip Jason over and pick up the pace, let loose some of his strength.

When he does finish — only letting himself go after the boy goes tight and shuddering with one last release — it's with Jason on his knees, held up against his chest with one arm wrapped around his torso to keep him supported. Slade locks inside with a throaty growl, pressing his teeth to a shoulder to sooth the itch to bite and make the blissed boy melt back against him.

Laying him down, molded up against his back, mussed blankets cushioning things and the smell of his conquest thick and heavy in every breath, Slade allows himself to settle and enjoy for once. A warm boy under his arm, silence apart from the mingled sounds of their breathing, guaranteed privacy, and lazy, pervasive pleasure still pulsing through him.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Have fun, enjoy, and thanks for coming on the ride with me.

Jason realizes that he dozed off about the time that he wakes back up, an arm wrapped heavy and warm over his back, his head tucked against the crook of a neck. For one hazy moment, it feels like being in his father's arms, comforted and safe from any possible threat.

Then the rest registers. The powerful, steel and copper scent sitting at the back of his tongue, rushing into his lungs as he takes a breath. The bare skin pressed up against him where he's entangled; legs and arms and chest, all. The curls of white hair on the chest pressed to his, scratching lightly at his skin as he shifts and then is suddenly aware of the solid thigh pressed between his own, sliding easily against the core of him when he moves. His breath catches at the sensation.

"Welcome back," a deep voice murmurs, from just above his head.

Right, Slade. Holy _fuck_ , Slade.

Jason can feel his cheeks heating at the rush of memory. Slade tracking him, chasing him, slipping through all his traps and catching him off guard. Pinning him down, flat on his back, and that was… That was different. (He's been pinned before, in spars with his family, but Slade is _not_ family and Jason was definitely not prepared for how that was going to feel.) It was very different getting picked up like he was still pup-sized, too, like he's not taller and heavier than even most alphas, let alone omegas. He's never felt the same kind of wild, heated, _want_ in his chest as he did when Slade pressed him down into the dirt and kept him there, as if the fight he put up didn't even matter.

Not outside of his heats, anyway. It felt like a targeted version of the indiscriminate need of his heats, but he's damn sure that he's nowhere near one, right now. So, then it was just Jason's own reactions. Slade's scent, how the wrap of fingers around his arms felt, how the low rumble of his voice vibrated down, thick and satisfied in his victory. (And then letting him go. Letting him have the choice himself, instead of taking what he'd won. Fuck, if that wasn't a fucking lightning bolt right down his spine…)

He clears his throat a little, trying to hide the flush in Slade's shoulder. "Hi."

Totally pointless, because the rumble that vibrates into his chest from Slade's is definitely an amused one. The hand at his back strokes up his spine. "Feel alright?"

Alright? He is so far past alright. He is… He's relaxed, and warm, and there's this bone-deep satisfaction that makes him just feel like he wants to stretch out and curl around Slade and _feel_ all of it against his skin. He doesn't really know what to call it. "Yeah, I'm uh…” He swallows, fights the urge to move because if he does he knows he's going to rub against that thigh again. "I'm good."

Slade's hum is low and very… intent. "You certainly smell like it."

The flush is a pointless cause. He can feel his whole face burning, and he doesn't even get to hide it because the next moment has Slade tugging and rolling them, pulling him firmly on top with the thigh he's straddling propped up under him. Jason's hands brace automatically so he doesn't faceplant, pectorals unfairly firm and defined under the spread of his fingers as he sucks in a breath, getting his balance. Hands come to his waist and steady him for a moment, before one dips right down between his legs.

Jason gasps, thighs automatically contracting but all that does is bring into sharp relief how thick the leg between his is, and how slick and wet and open he feels, even with the big fingers hooking in and exploring. "Slade!"

He doesn't know what he's hoping to gain with the name, exactly, but Slade just makes an acknowledging sound and then asks, "Sore?"

He squirms, the embers of heat starting up again behind his pelvis. "No."

"Good." And the fingers are gone, just like that.

Jason stumbles for footing for a couple moments, breaths coming gasped as he tries to deal with the sudden reigniting of desire. "You— That's it?"

Slade smirks, wetness smearing his skin as the hand comes back to resume its clasp of his waist. "Why? Did you want more?"

Teasing bastard.

"No," he huffs, fighting the urge to start squirming again. Fuck it, he has to get off this leg.

He leans forward to brace on his hands, swinging his leg over the other thigh to straddle Slade's waist instead, settling his weight there. Honestly, not much better. Now instead of the thigh it's Slade's abs, shifting underneath and against him with every inhalation. At least it's more stable, though, and he can always go up on his knees if he wants to. Gives him his hands back, now that he doesn't need them to brace. (Slade's smirk doesn't shift even once, the bastard.)

"When do you want to head back?" Jason asks, distracting himself from all the rest of it.

Slade makes a noncommittal noise, very obviously looking at him with that single eye. "I don't see any need to rush; we have till nightfall." The hands at his waist tug him down a bit more firmly down against Slade's waist. "I wasn't planning on being done with you this quick, boy."

Quick? Fuck, if that _marathon_ was quick, Jason can't even imagine what Slade thinks 'long' looks like. But boy is his body definitely interested to find out, apparently. There's nothing he can do about that.

Slade inhales, his eye heating. One hand releases his waist and lifts, curling around the back of his neck and making him shudder, even before Slade actually speaks in a low murmur. "Got food stashed somewhere in here?"

The completely incongruent statement takes a moment for him to parse. But after a second of confusion he nods.

"Good, then we don't have to go anywhere." Slade's teeth flash as he gives a low rumble, eye half-lidded. "How about you ride me, boy? I'll finish what I started, and when we're done we can see about something to eat, hm?"

Jason's inhalation shakes, when he breathes in. He can smell Slade all around him, scent rich and thick, spiced with clear, potent arousal. He can only imagine what Slade's getting off him.

"Yeah," he manages. "That sounds good."

* * *

There's lunch, and a second nap, and then a third 'round' of sex (slow, thorough, Slade practically wringing him apart with how intense it felt), before it grows late enough in the day that they don't have much choice but to start getting ready to leave.

The only possible way he's going to go home smelling remotely decent is to take a long freezing bath in a river, so Jason puts it out of his head and decides to try not to worry about it. Everyone knows what they were doing, and everyone else will have been doing it too, so it's not like they're the only ones. Besides, he's almost definitely sure that he's got little bruises all over his neck and shoulders so there is _no_ hiding any of this. He's just not used to coming back from this in any kind of an obviously… sexual, state.

Well, fuck it. He had fun. He had… a _lot_ of fun. People already had all kinds of thoughts about him anyway, so what does he care if they think new things now? It doesn't matter; nothing's changed.

(Something's changed. Jason gets it now, what people were talking about with all of this. Maybe he's just pickier about it than most, or maybe it's just that older, confident, powerful men are his type and those usually aren't the ones running in hunts. Things he will think about, _later_.)

"Ready?" Jason asks, after they've both dressed and he's finished lacing his boots up. It's habit more than anything; Slade took less time to dress, and he's just been watching him the last dozen seconds or so.

Slade steps closer, and holds something out to him. "Here."

It's a… bundle of some kind of dark-colored herb. Nothing Jason recognizes, not even when he takes it and holds it up to better light, to get a closer look at it. Smells sort of bitter, but that doesn't give much hint either. There are a lot of bitter herbs.

"What is it?"

"It prevents conception."

Jason stiffens. "I— _What?_ "

Slade doesn't seem affected by the enormity of what he's saying, or the implications of what he's just offered. "Tomorrow, brew it into a tea. Drink a full cup. As long as you do it within two days, you shouldn't catch; earlier is better. No long-term health problems for occasional usage; it's safe."

"You—” The words die, and Jason has to force himself to take a breath and swallow away the tightness of his throat. "You could get in a lot of trouble for this."

Diversifying bloodlines, ensuring the survival of the human race, all of that is the _point_ of the hunt. Using anything like this is against the rules, barring special circumstances. If Slade was caught with it, let alone caught giving him it… He's the son of the town alpha, Bruce would probably brush him actually using it under the rug if he caught it, but Slade? Slade's an outsider already, and Jason knows for a fact Bruce and Dick don't like him. He _has_ to know all that.

Slade holds his gaze steadily. "Mm. Suppose I could." There's a pause where Jason can't seem to find any kind of a reply, before Slade says, "Someone mentioned to me that you weren't interested in children, or a mate. I don't feel any need to insist on those fronts, if that's true." A smirk twists his lips. "There's no punishment your family is capable of enforcing that I care about. Tell them or don't, use it or don't, that's up to you. I just thought I'd give you the choice."

That's… Wow. He was not even remotely expecting that. He just thought… Someday, someone had to catch him, and someone was going to sleep with him, and then he'd 'do his duty' or whatever. Bear a child, let the town raise it, if he didn't feel capable. Nowhere in that did he expect a _choice_.

Jason takes a step back, and carefully tucks the herb away on one of his shelves, back behind some of the books. Just in case. "Thank you," he offers, as he turns back around. "I— Thank you."

Slade inclines his head, and then straightens up. "Shall we?"

Jason pushes aside the lingering shock, forces that entire question to the back of his head, and leads the way out. Deactivating enough of the traps to clear the route out is easy enough with his practice, but made new and interesting by Slade's hums of appreciation from behind him. He has to focus more than usual. It's distracting.

It's only after they're out that Jason lets his mind wander. Over the entirety of the day, and last night. The… choices, Slade's kept giving him, over and over. Whether or not to be chased, whether to be taken, how much of that he wanted at all… And then the complete opposite of the pressure he was half expecting. Not even a mention of mating, till the end. Nothing but carefully blunt bites and scraped teeth. No obsession with the seed he's taken, or how likely he is to carry, or even any sexual talk about breeding, or anything like that. It might as well all just have been for fun, the way the topics never came up.

Huh.

It's a long walk back. They're almost to the edge of the forest, and the sun's just a fraction from setting, when Jason comes to a conclusion. Part of one, anyway.

He stops, and after two more strides, Slade notices and turns back to him, a questioning tilt to his head.

Jason listens to the forest around them for a moment, and the distant strains of music from the town that he can hear; a celebratory night for the newly mated. In the morning, all the now-joined families will sort out where the couples will go, if that needs to be decided. But that's tomorrow. Tonight, the town celebrates, and the music guides everyone in from the forest, victorious or not.

"They were right," he says, pulling his gaze back to Slade. "Whoever told you I don't want kids yet, they were right."

Slade's gaze sharpens, reading past what he's said, like Jason thought he would. He takes a step closer. "They right about other things, too?"

Jason lifts his chin, looking at the way the fading light paints Slade's face. "I don't think so."

"Hm." Slade studies him, and then slowly lifts a hand. Jason lets knuckles brush against his jaw, and a thumb slide past the corner of his mouth. "Well, when you decide for sure, boy, let me know. I might be interested."

It stuns Jason, how those words light something in his chest. Slade steps back, letting his hand fall, and Jason finds himself snapping, " _No_."

Slade stills.

Jason takes a breath, working around the edges of that lit thing behind his sternum, feeling out the words with his tongue. "If you want me, _convince_ me. Like last night."

There's something sharp and interested in Slade's eye, and he feels like he's the only thing in the world it sees, right now. "You want me to court you?"

That's it. That's the word.

"Yes. I know you're good at s—” he stumbles over the word, slightly "—sex, I know you're a good hunter, and I know you respect my choices, and that's… That's a lot." He takes a breath, holds Slade's gaze as the certainty solidifies. "But it's not enough. I don't know _you._ Show me who you are, show me that you want me, and we'll see."

There's one moment where Jason thinks he's pushed too far. Slade is unmoving, watching him, and his nerve falters. He doesn't know what he was thinking, he doesn't know where those words came from. What right does he have to demand something like that, when they've known each other less than a day?

Slade grins.

Jason blinks, and Slade steps closer and reaches out, cupping his face and pulling him into a brief kiss. "Alright, boy," he murmurs when they part, barely pulling back even far enough to break contact. "I'll court you. Like you deserve. How long?"

He feels their lips brush, when he parts his. Barely stops himself from reaching up and dragging Slade back in. How long a courtship? What's a fair amount of time? What's too short? What's too long? Romance novels and old books are not the greatest source of information here; it's always skipped over or placed on some anniversary, special date or something.

Well… actually…

"You hunt criminals, right?" he asks, confirming. "Long chases, sometimes?"

Slade hums. "Sometimes."

Okay. Then that works, actually. Probably.

"A year," Jason says, trying not to show just how nervous that makes him. A year is… long. But, "Your work is important. No matter how much time any of it takes, that should still be fair, right? It won't be too long?"

"It's fair." The approving tint to the words go a long way towards relaxing him. Slade nips at his lip, then draws back with a smirk. "It's only too long if you're some alpha pup with no patience. I know how to wait."

Good. _Good_.

He tilts his head back slightly, making sure he's looking right at Slade to confirm, "Alright. One year."

"The next hunt," Slade fills in, sounding particularly satisfied about that fact. "Agreed, boy. I accept."

Jason can't help it, then. He leans forward, kissing Slade again. There's power in the hand that slides to the back of the skull, that circles his waist and drags him in tight. Actually bigger than him, taller, and he feels dwarfed by it. Feels… safe. He likes it.

Slade doesn't let him go again till he's breathless, and only pulls back a bit then, shifting down to rub against his jaw and… scent him. Thoroughly. Possessively. Jason tilts his head back with a softly drawn breath. It doesn't even occur to him to protest the claim; it feels _good._

A press of lips just below his scent gland, and Slade pulls back. "Come on, boy," he rumbles, one hand lingering at the small of his back. "We've got your family to horrify."

Right. Dick is going to be _pissed_. So is Bruce.

Jason's kind of looking forward to that.

* * *

The first time Slade shows back up, he brings a pelt. A massive, snow-white fur pelt that he shakes out and wraps around Jason's shoulders, giving a quiet, pleased rumble that reeks of possessiveness when it's settled. It's soft and thick, perfectly tanned, no damage. It's big enough he can completely stretch out on it, and once he's shaken off Dick's snarling disapproval and watchful eyes, Slade seems to take great delight in getting him spread out on top of it, naked.

It becomes his primary blanket.

The second time, it's a hunting rifle. Perfectly maintained, polished and loaded with ammo. There are plenty of rifles in the armory, but Slade presses this one into his hands with a rumbled, "This one's yours."

It's a little thrilling — in that forbidden, adrenaline sort of way — to have something that he's calling 'his,' not the community's. Everything is supposed to be shared for survival, not kept out of selfish greed. Bruce _Disapproves_ , capital D, but he disapproves of Slade being around, courting him, touching him, and breathing in the area too, so, Jason doesn't let it get to him. Plus, the rifle comes with Slade smirking down at him and promising shooting lessons. Private ones. _Hands-on_ ones.

The third, fourth, and fifth, it's books. Old novels from the world before. One each time, paired with a fantastic steel knife, serrated on one side and smooth the other; a brown leather jacket, a little worn but somehow exactly his size; and a plaited, dark red leather cuff with woven-in beads of amber.

And so it goes. Slade stops by semi-regularly, bringing him gifts and taking him on walks or rides out into the wild, to little nooks or spots he's found. He already knew the basics of how to shoot, but Slade teaches him precision, first on cans and makeshift targets, and then on actual hunts. Or they might just stay in Jason's room at the town, or his hideaway in the woods, Slade seemingly content to just doze, wrapped around him, as he dives into the new books he's been brought.

Slade's not there all the time, of course; there are stretches of weeks and (two separate times) a month or so that Jason doesn't see him. Sometimes with warning, sometimes not, but he knows that's what he signed up for. No guarantees of time, except that Slade always shows back up again, eventually. Not a scratch on him, and a new story to tell. Dick tries to convince him that he doesn't want to have a partner that might be gone for weeks or months at a time at the drop of a hat, but actually, Jason finds he doesn't mind it much. He likes having the time alone. He's always liked having time to himself; thus the hideaway in the forest.

(He also starts to suspect, after the second time that Slade mentions he has more work than usual, that Bruce has somehow gotten all the even remotely nearby towns to hire Slade, instead of anyone else. It's kind of annoying, but Slade just laughs and wraps him up in one big arm when he voices the suspicion, murmuring, "If he wants to make me rich, I don't mind.")

The one thing that Slade does deliberately stay away for — Jason demands it, but he agrees easily enough — is Jason's heats. He's not ready for that, and even with everything else they do, it doesn't feel right to share a heat with anyone but a mate. Slade doesn't even make an attempt to convince him otherwise, which is nice. For someone that Bruce and Dick seem convinced is an uncaring asshole, Slade doesn't ever press him to make different decisions, or change his mind. More and more he thinks that Slade was right, that first night. Bruce and Dick like to be in control, and when someone denies that, it isn't taken kindly.

(Or it could be that Slade's an Affected. Born from a line of the old world that reacted to the sweep; mutated and changed, and passed it on in the blood of all their children. Jason had always thought those were the people with twisted limbs and debilitating conditions, but that doesn't seem to fit Slade at all, and Slade confirms it without any apparent concern when he asks. He has better reflexes, strength, senses, and he ages slowly; the only apparent 'negatives' are the white hair and the potential to pass on entirely different mutations to any child. He's had three children already, though. One born mute, but no other negative effects, and several positives. Jason can't deny being a little worried, but those seem like good odds to him.)

It feels like so much less time than it is. The seasons fly, time condensing to time spent with Slade, and without. Plenty of time for him to make up his mind, as Slade proves over and over that he pays attention to what Jason wants and enjoys. Plenty of time for him to decide that despite being older, an Affected, an outsider, and at odds with the rest of his family, Jason still wants him. It doesn't take him the full year to decide that, but he holds to his choice.

A year. As much a test of his own conviction as Slade's, he realizes.

Then, suddenly, it's the time of the hunt again. A week out, and then a day, and Slade comes riding back into the town just like he did when Jason met him. Except, this time, there's a second horse tied to his saddle. At the beckoning of a hand, he follows Slade to the stables, studying the second horse as Slade stables the big, dappled grey beast he usually rides.

It's a reddish bay mare, with the standard black mane and tail, neatly groomed and swishing as she stands and watches him right back, ears pricked forward and wearing a full kit; saddle and reins and all. She's not a size match for Slade's horse, but she's on the larger side, and she's got a delicate white splash along the left side of her muzzle. She's beautiful.

"She's yours," Slade calls, as he shuts the stall door. Her attention's drawn by the voice, as is Jason's. "I thought you might want a horse of your own to ride out on, come the end of the hunt." There's a deliberate pause before Slade adds, "If you choose to come with me."

Jason snorts, but puts aside the arrogance in favor of returning his attention to the mare. "What's her name?"

"I called her 'Red.'" Her ears flick at the name, head butting Slade's shoulder as he comes into range. It doesn't even nudge him, but he does lift a hand to scratch the side of her neck. "Name her whatever you want. She and the tack are yours to keep, whatever you pick."

Slade holds out a hand, and he takes it and lets Slade pull him closer, holding their joined hands up towards Red's nose. "Hey, girl," Jason murmurs. "Red, huh?"

She huffs over his hand. Slade rubs her neck with the other palm. "She's trained. Everything standard. She'll take care of you, if you take care of her."

"I will," he promises. He squeezes Slade's hand. "Thank you."

Slade just nods, and then takes her reins with his free hand. "Come on, let's get her stabled." He smirks, pulling their joined hands to his mouth, to kiss Jason's knuckles. "I can think of some other things I'd like to do with you before Wayne chases me off."

A whole year, and Jason still finds his breath catching. "Yeah, so can I."

* * *

Jason puts more thought into how he looks, that night, than he thinks he ever has before. He picks out a shirt he's pretty sure Slade's never seen him in before; a black, long-sleeved one with ties that cinch and lace at his lower back, drawing it in tight at his waist, while the neckline cuts down a few inches from his throat in a V. He folds the sleeves back on themselves, up to just above his elbows so his forearms are bare and the cloth's out of the way. Pins them there, to make sure it stays.

Slade's gift of the leather cuff goes around his wrist. He picks out his best-fitting pair of pants; equally as black as the shirt and honestly too tight for him to do most of the things he likes in, so he only ever wears them at formal things like this. His boots he doesn't change, just cleans and polishes.

He's not really surprised that Bruce comes to his room, as he's putting himself together. Jason's expecting a lecture, or an ultimatum, or some last ditch effort to convince him that Slade's been wrong for him the whole time. But Bruce only asks, "Is this what you want?"

Jason doesn't have to think about it. He's had a year to do that, already. "Yes."

Bruce nods. "Alright. As long as you're happy, I won't interfere." Hands lift, and Jason exhales and gratefully lets himself be pulled into a hug, powerful arms wrapped around his back. "You'll always have a home here, son. If you need it."

A small, tight ball in his chest finally eases. He relaxes into Bruce's grip, taking a deep breath of the sturdy, woodsy scent of his father and letting it calm the jitters in his stomach. "Thank you."

When Bruce does finally let him go, he only takes a half step back. He gives a small smile, and offers, "Do you need someone to do your eyes?"

Jason nods. "Yes. Please."

That's the last part. With the thin black lines painted over the top edge of his eyelids to frame his eyes, he's all put together. Bruce leaves to facilitate the start of the gathering, and he's left alone to gather the nerves to step out there. He messes with his hair for a bit longer, adjusts his sleeves a dozen times, and then forces himself to take a deep breath and just _go_.

Night's fallen. The way to the dinner is lit with torches, the blaze of the fire at the center calling everyone to it like a beacon. Jason holds his head high, and walks straight into the center of it like he never has before. People look at him; alphas on the other side of the line watching him move, watching him pass through the other omegas as he scans the crowd.

There he is.

Slade's already moving to meet him, his height easy to spot in the crowd. Jason comes to one side of the table, and Slade's sheer size clears a path for him to come to the other side. Jason swallows, staring at the close-fitting, formal white shirt that perfectly outlines his shoulders and the sharp inward angle to his waist. Fuck, he looks good.

He barely even registers that other people are watching as Slade smirks, gaze raking down his chest and back up. "You look good enough to eat, boy."

Jason takes a breath, and there's something of that first night in his chest now, too. An anticipatory, interested, _wildness_ that makes him flash his teeth in a not-entirely-friendly smile. "If you can catch me, I'll let you."

Slade's smirk stretches wide enough to be a grin, and not even the mess of scents around fully disguises the strong, steel-and-copper waft of Slade's scent coming to his nose. "That a promise?"

Yes. This is what he wants. He wants the challenge, and he wants this to end the same way that it started. With a chase, and a hunt.

"Promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)


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